


Star Wars: Attack of the Feels

by inevitablytragic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A bunch of OC's - Freeform, A shit ton of em, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Platonic Relationships, Protective Siblings, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Sibling Love, Stilinski Family Feels, background not included, okay maybe background included if you really want it but, this is a fic for my friends and it has all of their original characters, this will not make sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inevitablytragic/pseuds/inevitablytragic
Summary: No one ever talks about the nightmares Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa must have. After everything they’ve been through, after all the war they’ve seen? There’s no way they can still sleep like babies. And if they didn’t sleep well, would that be seen as a character flaw? Oh, they can’t fall asleep because of severe night terrors or the fear of being attacked overwhelms them, so they’re sleep deprived and virtually useless? Who would've guessed?( 5 times Taylor took care of the Stilinski's and 1 time they took care of her )





	1. Luke Skywalker

No one ever talks about the nightmares Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa must have. After everything they’ve been through, after all the war they’ve seen? There’s no way they can still sleep like babies. And if they didn’t sleep well, would that be seen as a character flaw? Oh, they can’t fall asleep because of severe night terrors or the fear of being attacked overwhelms them, so they’re sleep deprived and virtually useless? Who would've guessed?

He may have yawned a hundred times in Biology class, but Stiles was too on edge to be caught unaware. Jumpy. He was incredibly jumpy.

But so was Taylor.

When she was having her usual, late, into-the-AM party on the couch and Stiles appeared out of nowhere to join her, her heart had shifted gears into a painful gallop. Her breathing was steady to appearances, but Stiles hadn’t missed the brief panic on her face.

He sat on one end of the couch. She sat on the other.

It wasn’t the first time Stiles or Taylor had nightmares. That first month after Claudia Stilinski’s death, Stiles had woken up screaming and crying. And after a certain time when Taylor was eleven, she steadily became less and less likely to sleep on her own.

It’s been five years. The stakes have been upped. Stiles runs with werewolves. He sees things he shouldn’t and endures even worse.

The Nogitsune was hard on all the Stilinski’s. Being looked at by the big brother who helped you when you fell, being _analyzed_ by that look like you’re an undetermined species𑁋it had made Taylor’s skin crawl. She’d checked on Marcelina and the twins every night to make sure they were sleeping okay.

Sometimes she’d find eyes meeting her gaze. Sometimes they would be inquiring. Sometimes they would be empty. Marcie’s had been watering the first time, and Taylor hadn’t wasted a moment before crawling into bed with her for the rest of the night.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, “He’s going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay.”

Taylor could be a good liar when she wanted, but this one had sunk so deep into her bones that she refused to accept anything else for them. She’d tell it to the twins when they were aggressive, angry. She would whisper it to Marcie when she looked like she wanted to cry, and then hold her when she did. She’d look her father dead in the eye to tell him when he drank over a spread of papers. And she’d breathe it like a mantra when her heart began to doubt.

And he’d been okay. A weird, sort of _not okay_ type of okay. A Stiles-is-Stiles type of okay.

He still took up post on the opposite side of the couch. They both stuck their feet under the same, large quilt. They watched the same movie. But they never crossed that middle cushion. Taylor had slept in the same bed as him when he’d had nightmares as a child, but she couldn’t cuddle away this trauma.

It was one thing to lose someone. It was another to lose yourself.

He’d done both.

“No,” he whispered with James Earl Jones, “I am your father.”

Stiles had a quirk to his lips in the light of the television, and it took everything Taylor had not to slide over the middle cushion. She’d missed that grin and his humor; she’d missed him. But he was still pressed to his side of the couch, and she would not cross that line. Too many had already been crossed. This one would stay intact.

And it did. It stayed intact for a week of their late, into-the-AM party sessions. Stiles clung to his side of the couch, hogged the blanket, and wouldn’t stop speaking every line he knew in each movie they watched. Taylor didn’t complain. She’d missed every bit of it.

The Nogitsune had been selfish, but not the right kind. It hadn’t been the selfless kind of selfish. The one where Stiles could steal every last bit of the bacon at breakfast, but also spend his last few dollars on lunch for Marcie. The one where Stiles could toss one of his little siblings under the bus just to get out of a hard conversation, but still punch some eighth grader in the mouth for calling Wes and Alek freaks.

Taylor was all selfish for wanting Stiles to go back to the way he was. No matter which way you spin it, she shouldn’t have felt so desperate for him to not be the way he was. It clawed up her throat, that _need_ for normalcy. It wasn’t fair for her to feel that way.

But, God, did she.

She wanted to crawl over the middle cushion for weeks. To do what? To curl up like she had when they were kids? Hold his hand? Was he even comfortable with skin contact with anyone? Something had been there, beneath the surface, and he probably wanted nothing to do with his own insides.

It took nearly a month at their pity party before Stiles started to lean away from the edge of the couch and towards her. Less likely to bolt, but still very likely with the way he seemed to inch. He was building himself back up, and that took awhile. She was used to it. She knew what to expect.

So when his hand was on the middle cushion, she took it. He clasped hard. Nearly painful. But pain cleared the head. She clasped just as tightly.

_It’s okay_.

The next night, he cut the distance between them in half.

_He’s going to be okay._

Taylor settled the bowl of popcorn in her lap, which was half in Stiles’. She grabbed a few pieces at a time. Stiles dipped his whole hand in and came out with enough that he had to unhinge his jaw to stuff it all in.

_We’re all going to be okay._

“Y’know. Scott would be our Han Solo if he would just watch the movies,” he spoke between chewing, during chewing, and after chewing. Multitasking had never been more gross.

Taylor popped one piece of popcorn in her mouth at a time. She ignored the tapping on her knee𑁋a habit that had nothing to do with getting her attention.

“He has,” she replied after some time. Her lap jerked when Stiles practically pushed to the very edge of the couch.

“ _What_ ? Why didn’t he _tell me_?” his voice was hysterical but quiet.

“Because he knew you wanted to watch it with him. But he accidentally saw some of the newer movies and got interested, so he watched most of them.”

“He told you and not me?”

“Mhm. I was his movie guru. Explained the hard stuff to him and all that.”

She hadn’t been looking at him the duration of the conversation, but she couldn’t _not_ look when he made a hurt noise in the back of his throat and slumped back against the couch.

He usually would’ve said something dramatic by then. Maybe a ‘I can’t believe he’d do this to me’ or ‘That traitor’. But he didn’t. He just stared at the television, face pinched in all the places that meant he was thinking too hard. Fuck that Nogitsune.

“He was planning a movie night last time I checked. For you two,” her voice came out softer than he probably wanted, but she was watching his doubts scroll through his eyes. “He had to keep rescheduling though. Homework was piling up, and he had to get shit done. But he wants to watch them with you. Wouldn’t even let me watch it with him. He literally thought it was like cheating on you if I was in the room while he watched it.”

The look in his eyes didn’t go away. Panic swelled with the beat of Taylor’s heart while she set the popcorn bowl on the table.

“Stiles?”

He finally turned his gaze on her, and the devastation within them seemed to send Taylor’s control up in smoke. The last time he’d looked so struck by grief was when he’d been a boy, and his mother wasn’t coming home. Not quite her mother, but definitely his. Not quite her best friend, but definitely his.

She found and gripped his fingers, choking out a, “Hey.”

If he had been any younger, his lower lip might’ve trembled. It didn’t this time.

“We love you so much,” she breathed, and he looked like he might pull away.

She clasped on tighter.

“Nothing. _Nothing_ will ever change that. Especially something that was _not_ your fault, Stiles.”

The look in his eyes magnified until they were crystal with tears.

“It’s _not_ ,” her voice cracked. Her own face had cool lines travelling to her chin. “You couldn’t control it. It wasn’t you. It was _never_ you.”

“I let it in,” he croaked.

“And what else could you have done, Stiles?” his gaze dropped. She forced it back up.

“What could you have done, huh? Even if you had pushed it out entirely, it just would’ve gone into someone else. Even if you could’ve done something, it wouldn’t have saved anyone. That monster? It wanted to create chaos. Whether or not you let in had nothing to do with it.”

A teardrop slipped over his lashes and down his cheek. His skin was warm when she put her hands to his face. It wasn’t nearly as chilling as it had been, like he had already been dead with that parasite in him. Life was flush beneath her fingertips. He could push her away all he liked, but she had her proof. Her proof that he was alive, and he was himself.

She kept crying. Not mourning this time. God, she never wanted to mourn again.

“Scott loves you. I love you. All of the people upstairs love you. And Allison?” Stiles choked on air, eyes filling to the brim and spilling over faster than anything she’d ever seen.

“Allison wouldn’t have forgiven you. Because she never would have blamed you.”

He cried. He didn’t have the capacity to stop, and his chest lurched with every stuttered breath he made. They would’ve made a sight. Two teenagers, sitting on an old couch, sobbing their sleep-deprived eyes out. Her hands on his face, catching the droplets but not all of them.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. She wrapped her arms around him, hands rubbing between his shoulder blades to try and ease the ache in his chest.

It didn’t work for the first few minutes. He wheezed, choked, and wept against her shoulder, and she thought he would do it until there was no energy left to keep it up.

But then she told him she forgave him.

And he sucked in one last breath. It came out easier, calmer.

She said it again.

He sniffled and wiped his eyes without pulling away. Stiles used a fist to clean off the tears like a tired child. He was a tired child.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. The drop in volume made Stiles’ sniffling and Taylor’s back rubbing seem louder than it was. The tv was still softly going, and the clock in the hallway could be heard ticking all the way in the living room.

She kept rubbing and rubbing. Soothing and soothing. “You’re going to be okay.”

Her big brother clung to her like he hadn’t done in five years. It seemed to soothe something within her, too, as selfish as it sounds.

“We’re all going to be okay.”


	2. Milky Way

Remi had disappeared for awhile. 

Not like someone had stolen him kind of disappeared. They never got any hints or clues or threats for ransom. 

They couldn’t smell where he’d gone. His scent just stopped one day. He never came home, never tried to call. And maybe a normal family would’ve put up fliers or something, but the Stilinski’s had dealt with enough supernatural assholes to know they wouldn’t get a phone call if they hadn’t already. 

It hadn’t even made sense, really.

Stiles was the one running with werewolves. Taylor was the one that could create explosions at the flick of a finger. Wes and Alek were a little weird, but that came with being a Stilinski. Marcelina was the most normal, the most gentle girl there ever was. And Remi.

Remi had a way with cracking jokes that didn’t work with Stiles. He had a way of smiling so bright that you couldn’t frown back. He wasn’t like his damaged big brother and sister, or his lost little siblings. He knew where he was, where he’d been.

There was insecurity there, but never with his family. He knew all the right buttons with them. There wasn’t rejection or even the threat of it. He went all out when he was around the Stilinski’s. 

But he disappeared. Into thin air. Werewolves couldn’t find a strong enough hint of him. Taylor couldn’t find him through magic. He’d vanished somewhere that no one could really follow. 

They didn’t have a funeral service for him. It might’ve seemed weird to the town, or maybe cruel is a better word, but they didn’t believe he was dead. Dead doesn’t mean nowhere to be found. If anything, it would mean the opposite. 

So they didn’t have a funeral. 

His bedroom went untouched for awhile. Taylor and Marcelina made a plan to clean it every two weeks after he was gone for a couple of months. 

Sometimes one of the Stilinski kids would get found in there, holding Remi’s pillow. They wouldn’t get angry or try to force them out. Usually, it just meant a slow cuddle pile in Remi’s room that would last approximately until their stomachs started to rumble.

Taylor never really stopped looking. 

Stiles didn’t either, but they didn’t join forces. They were too busy trying to play the protective sibling card and pretending to be moving on for everyone else’s sake to actually say they were still searching for Remi Stilinski.

They went to school, they lived their lives, and they tried to ignore the gaping hole where a brother should’ve been. 

Two years. It took over two years for him to come back. It was in those two years that they experienced the most grief: Stiles’ possession, the Alpha Pack, the deadpool, and everything in-between. 

Two years with that gap. 

Taylor was the only one home when he came back. Stiles was off, pestering his friends. Wes and Alek were out and with their boy crushes that they thought Taylor didn’t know about. Marcelina was at the school library, and Dad was at work until late. 

So it was only Taylor who witnessed Remi Stilinski walk through the door, alone and so much older than when he’d left. He was taller. Closer to Stiles in height. His face was thinner, and his soft, baby cheeks were less rounded. Two years was a long gap. 

Taylor dropped a glass of juice, and the shards flew everywhere. Her bare feet meant she got nicks across the skin, but she didn’t feel them. Remi looked overwhelmed, though, and there was a tightness in her chest that told her to stop acting strange. 

She couldn’t wave away the mess with magic. She had to dodge the glass to get the broom. She had to wipe off her feet and the floor. She had to breathe.  _ Breathe _ . 

Remi didn’t leave his spot by the front door while she bustled around. 

Bandaids. She had to grab the bandaids, and cover some of the nastier cuts on her feet. Taylor left the room, grabbed the bandaids, and fought every instinct that told her to run back and make sure he hadn’t left. He hadn’t.

“Where’ve you been?” she asked. Smoothe, careful, calm. Taylor didn’t feel any of those things. 

He grimaced, and it should’ve looked different with the way his face wasn’t the same, but there wasn’t a single bit of that expression she didn’t recognize. The way his eyebrows leaned in, his mouth twisted. It was one thing off from the face he makes when he eats lemon, and that one thing was the way he looked at the floor.

Guilt. He felt guilty. He’d been fine for two years. Or close enough to it that they shouldn’t have worried so much. 

That guilt was pointless.

“Am I the first person you’ve seen so far?”

He nodded and kept his gaze to everything below chin level. 

Smoothe, calm, careful.

“Is that on purpose?” His eyes lifted for a fraction of a second to look her in the eye, and she didn’t need his answer anymore. 

“Do you know how long you’ve been gone?” the guilt swept back into his expression, but she wasn’t done. “I’ve been looking for you for years. More than three years. You disappeared. No one could find you, but I kept looking because I knew I’d have to mourn you if I stopped.”

He flinched with his entire body, one step closer to the door. 

“You’ve missed a shit ton, Remi.” Guilt made room for anguish. Taylor took two steps when his eyes were half-glazed. 

“Marcie’s in high school,” she started, “I’m pretty sure Wes has a boyfriend, too. He’s always gone, and he doesn’t talk as much. Which means he doesn’t talk at all. We don’t even have dinner at the table anymore.”

Remi’s head had slowly sunk further and further down until she could hardly see his expression. Which meant he missed the two more stolen steps. Her foot burned where it was cut.

“Dad went on a date after  _ years _ ,” she continued, “and werewolves are real.” She could tell by the way his head stopped lowering that he was confused. She still didn’t stop. 

“Werewolves are real, and Scott McCall is a werewolf. Witches are real, and I’m a witch. Stiles got possessed by an ancient fox spirit. People have died, and they’re still dying because this town is overrun with supernatural creatures because of some stupid tree, and I’ve tried to be a good big sister, but you were always there to pick up where I couldn’t, and you were gone, and I didn’t know if you were ever coming back𑁋”

Her vision blurred. She wiped the tears away viciously, like a little kid that was tired of being so little. There had been way too much crying as of late. Sleep deprivation had made her overly emotional and so had the shitty hand that life had dealt them. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered albeit awkwardly. He was still too close to the door, but he didn’t look like he wanted to leave.

Taylor flashed a tight smile. “Don’t be. S’not your fault, Rem.”

His face twisted again like he disagreed but didn’t want to say anything. Too critical. He was being too critical. 

“Shit’s been hitting the fan since you’ve been gone, and it’s not𑁋”

“I’ve been in space,” Remi blurted. Stunned, she met his wide eyes with her own. 

“I’ve been in space and fighting aliens so that they couldn’t come back here and destroy Earth, and I’ve been doing it in a massive robot lion that can join together with other robot lions to make one giant robot with a sword like in Power Rangers, but it’s  _ real _ , and I haven’t been alone, so you don’t have to worry about whether I was okay or not. I’m sorry I didn’t call or try to reach you guys, though, I don’t think𑁋”

“Remi.” He stopped, looking down at Taylor because she’s right there. Her hands are on his shoulders, her lips are twisting into a small smile, and Remi’s face visibly crumples before he falls into a hug. 

“I missed you. I missed you guys so much,” he mumbled. 

“We missed you, too, Milky Way.” Remi didn’t answer with words, but there were broken noises over Taylor’s shoulder that made her eyes water again.

They stood like that for awhile. Standing in front of the doorway, Remi bent down to Taylor’s level. It couldn’t have been good for his back, but he didn’t complain. He even tightened his hold when Taylor made a move to draw back like he wasn’t done with the hug yet. 

Taylor spent the hug time well. She took in his softer, messier hair. His clothes were pretty much the same, but they fit differently. His body still ran warm, and something about his facial expressions were livelier than she remembered.

“Did you say robot lions?” 

Remi snorted next to her ear, pulling away to eye her face. He ended up snorting again.

“Yeah. Robot lions. I, uh, got to pilot two of them.” He didn’t seem as jittery with excitement or as nervous about it. Maybe it was age. Maybe it was whatever he went through with the group he mentioned. Either way, it was bittersweet on Taylor’s heart. 

“How many are there?”

“Oh, five. Red, blue, yellow, black, and green.”

“They’re color coded?” 

Remi’s grin was slow, easy. Somehow, it didn’t fit him at all and fit him perfectly at the same time. 

“I don’t know if they were meant to be, but yeah.”

Taylor’s heart had started to hurt from the dull ache in her chest. She recognized him. Of course she recognized him. He was her little brother. Her twin, basically. If he’d come back with gray hair dressed like he was from the 80’s, she would’ve known who he was. Just the way he looked at her. Like he had a story to tell her, but couldn’t pick which one he wanted to tell first. 

But he was off kilter. Someone entirely new with different experiences and different mannerisms. While she could catch the few tell-tale twitches, they were still few and far between. He’d grown into his own skin, and she was glad for that. But she also had adored the person he’d been before, too. 

Now it felt like she was the only one with the itch left in her bones. 

“And you weren’t alone?”

He picked up her soft voice and reciprocated, “No. I wasn’t alone.”

“Good,” she choked out, “That’s really good. I probably would’ve felt ten times worse if you’d been in space without space lions and people to talk to.”

Remi huffed a laugh thick with emotion. It made her feel better, selfish as it sounds, to know that she wasn’t the only one with her heart in her throat. 

“Does it make you feel better knowing they were really good people? Like, sometimes I forgot about missing you guys kind of good? Because I would, and I would feel  _ awful _ , Taylor𑁋”

“It’s okay, Rem. It’s more than okay,” she swore, “You’re okay to feel happy without being around us, y’know?”

“It’s not,” he insisted, and she turned to stare at faded wallpaper.

“It’s not,” he tried again, “because you were here. Looking for me. Thinking I was in danger, and yeah, sure, I kind of was, but I was fine, too. And you didn’t know that I was fine, too. But I knew you were. I knew where you were, what you were doing𑁋”

“I mean, not really,” she interjected.

“I wasn’t  _ searching _ for you the way you were searching for me. I was trying to get home, but not because I was worried you might be dead. I just missed you. But you- you could’ve been thinking the worst about me. And that wasn’t fair at all to you.”

The wallpaper was stained to hell. Yellowed, old. It needed to be changed. Maybe when summer break came, and there was time.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed.

“Just.” Her eyelashes were wet, but the tears weren’t sitting on the lip of her eyelid, waiting. “Don’t do it again.”

He nodded enthusiastically, and it was the first time he’d done something so like the old version of himself that the ache melted away and Taylor’s heart slipped back to where it belonged in her chest. 

“Are aliens real?” she whispered. He must’ve recognized her then, too, because the look in his eye turned sly. 

“As real as werewolves.”

They grinned together, slow and easy. 

“There’s a new Star Wars trilogy out.”

“I had to eat food goo the entire time I was gone.”

“I’m kind of gay.”

“So am I.”

“Why are you stealing my thunder, Stilinski?”

“What thunder, Stilinski?”

Taylor’s smile was tight, but the spark in her eyes didn’t fizzle out. 

“I want you to meet my girlfriend.”

“I want you to meet my boyfriend,” he said slowly. She kept the shock off of her face, out of her voice. 

“Is he an alien?”

Remi’s grin softened considerably. It’s the same way she imagined she looked at Traz when she wasn’t paying attention. 

“Yeah. He’s an alien.”

“Good. Were you planning on seeing Dad today?”

Panic flickered as his smile fell off his face. He must’ve waited until the Sheriff’s cruiser was out of the driveway before sneaking in. Whether or not he’d meant to see anyone at all was a toss up. Without the cruiser, there wouldn’t be any other vehicles; Taylor had walked here. 

“Uh,” he started, hand already at the back of his neck and scratching an itch that wasn’t there. 

“Stiles’ window. Tree is right outside. If you hurry, you should miss everyone’s entrance. We can work out the details of your official return later. And the boyfriend situation.”

Relief blossomed in the panic’s place, and an edge of fondness lingered around the edges. 

“Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was left open ended and I can't remember how I actually wanted to end it.   
> So the ending is definitely bothering me, but I'm just here to post what I have so that it's out there.


	3. Curly Fry

It was ice cold outside. Taylor’s hands were shoved deep into her coat pockets, but nothing could be done for the end of her nose or the top layer of her cheeks. Her hair was up, the back of her neck cold, and scrubs were incredibly comfortable when the temperature wasn’t below forty degrees fahrenheit. 

“Can we please go inside?” she called, watching Wes sway on the swing set like he was crazy. His bare fingers were wrapped around metal chains, and he obviously had something to think about.

“Go ahead.” 

She sighed, soft and accepting. It wasn’t exactly how she wanted to spend her trip home, but she sat down on the cold plastic anyway. Wes didn’t pay her any mind; if anything, he was making sure to ignore her presence. Silence descended in-between the creaks of their swaying.

After a few minutes or so, Taylor risked her fingers to pull out her phone and start on a knock off Candy Crush game. The volume was up, and every block that popped made Wes twitch somehow. It took less than a full minute for him to snap.

“Can you give the speech already before I go crazy?”

She taps a few more times, pops a few more bubbles, and pockets the phone when the confetti explodes across the app. Her fingertips are red.

“What speech?”

“The one about talking about my feelings or whatever.”

Taylor sighs beneath a hollow breeze before looking at him. The expression on his face is unique and reserved for Wes only. His twin could never pull off the emotionally constipated look like Wes could, and that had nothing to do with expressing his feelings. They were both rather terrible at it. 

Eventually, Taylor just assumed it was a Stilinski genetic that she kind of received through the adoption process. It wasn’t nearly as severe, but it could ruin Christmas if she let it. 

“You don’t have to talk about your feelings with me, Wes. Obviously. Maybe I just like sitting here with you. In the cold. Freezing my ass off. For you.”

Wes rolled his eyes. For a moment, there was relief because the constipation was put on pause for such an eye roll. But of course it only got replaced with a carefully neutral expression instead. 

“You don’t have to sit here with me.”

“You see,” she started and ignored the look that flashed on Wes’ face, “I would agree, but Alek is out. Probably with his boyfriend no one else has met. Marcie is at the library with her lovely group. Remi’s somewhere. Stiles doesn’t have the capacity to sit in solidarity and silence. And you wouldn’t talk to Dad unless you went back in time to when you were like, six.”

Wes was failing at the neutral expression. Her words must’ve been as sour as a lemon.

“So that leaves me,” she declared, “and unfortunately for you, I have a lot of spare time coming up. I can sit here as long as you need me to. Even if it’s just to create some background noise.”

He didn’t answer, but the pinch between his brows and at the corners of his mouth had lessened. 

Taylor continued, “Or I could let you play a few rounds, if that helps. I’m honestly up for anything that makes you stop slouching in on yourself like you’ve been abandoned.”

He didn’t answer, and the creaking filled the silence again. A particular gust of icy air stung the end of Taylor’s nose. It was enough for her to consider the defeated walk of shame back to the house. It wasn’t, however, enough for her to go through with it.

“Do I need to have a talk with Alek? Or maybe that Auston guy? Is he being mean to you𑁋”

“ _ No _ , Taylor, Jesus. No one’s being mean to me. You don’t have to threaten everyone just because I want to be left alone.”

They’d both stopped swinging, and it was actually more haunting without the chain’s heavy squeals. The cold air was devastating to the top layer of their skin and to the conversation’s atmosphere. 

“Sorry,” she murmured. It took her a moment, but Taylor stood up. To leave, she didn’t know, but sitting felt like too little activity for her in the situation.

The second she did, Wes was looking up at her from where he sat. He still had that damn expression on his face that seemed to encompass all of his inability to express his feelings verbally. The corners of his mouth were pointed down just enough to be considered a frown, and his eyebrows were furrowed the slightest bit. His eyes, though. Those weren’t as confused as the expression usually demanded they be.

Glassy. Pleading. Pained. But not confused. 

“Come on,” she gestured at him with a wave of her hand, “let’s go. Up and at ‘em, Curly Fry, we don’t have all day.”

Wes was definitely eyeing her like she was out of her mind, but it was fine because he stood up reluctantly like she’d wanted. 

“Now bring it in,” she finished, arms out for him to walk into. Honestly, though, Taylor didn’t expect him to waltz into a hug. She expected him to roll his eyes, walk around, or even slap her hands down.

Wes had a thing for confusing her.

His arms swooped around her torso, and his head tucked against her shoulder as if she weren’t a full four inches shorter. He wasn’t awkward. He wasn’t tense, and he hugged Taylor tighter than he had in a long time. 

It took a minute for her to even relax into it herself. Luckily, Wes didn’t move away before she could get her cold fingers locked together against his back. 

The wind couldn’t touch her like this. 

The height difference meant that Taylor couldn’t wrap her arms around his neck without putting her face somewhere nearby, and she had to put a little weight on her toes. It stopped being  as cold, though. 

And maybe she had an urge to say something. A remark, a comment, anything to fill the silence so that she didn’t feel so coiled over something like a hug she hadn’t mentally prepped for. Hell, she couldn’t hug anyone without filling the silence regardless of preparation. 

Cuddling Traz was amazing, but there had to be noise. Leaning into Stiles’ side for comfort was worth all of the money in the world, but she couldn’t go a few minutes without speaking. Hugging her little brother in the cold was the best scenario, and yet she found herself stretching like a rubber band with each passing second. 

That is, until Wes’ fingers curled against the fabric of her jacket, and she felt nothing but the need to protect, defend,  _ hold _ . 

Silence descended upon them, sounding a lot like a gust of wind and the squeaking of a swingset, but Taylor didn’t fill it. It wasn’t a gap or a hole or a blank space. It didn’t need to be occupied. It was a presence all on its own, and it was comforting Wes in a way that didn’t comfort Stiles or Remi. 

She let it swell, sweep, and settle like a rainstorm. 

Her phone buzzed in her back pocket. They had to separate for Taylor to answer the call, and Wes was glancing at any and everything that wasn’t her. 

“Hey,” she sighed.

“Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“Stiles is going to land in forty-five minutes, and Dad says he doesn’t think he’ll make it in time to pick him up.”

“So I need to do it.”

“Mhm.” 

“Got it. Love you, Marce.”

“Love you.”

Hitting the end call button, Taylor finally looks at Wes with a soft sigh. He doesn’t meet her gaze, but she knows he’s paying attention by the way that look on his face is back to being pinched and sour. She ruffles his hair, getting him to glance up indignantly before she flashes a smile at him.

“Wanna ride with me to pick up Stiles? I’ll let you pick the music,” she offers. Wes considers it with pursed lips and answers with a neutral shrug. It was enough.

“Then let’s go before my fingers fall off and you end up having to drive.”

He snorts, and she smiles.

“Your fingers aren’t going to  _ fall off _ , drama queen.”

“They might, asshole, you don’t know. Frostbite is a serious issue,” she insists.

He’s still grinning. Her heart is warmer than her toes.

“It’s not even below freezing. Your fingers are fine,” he says as if he doesn’t have on gloves. 

“I’ll believe that when I can feel them.”


	4. Bumblebee

The blood was black, thick, and oozing grossly onto the mahogany surface Beau Argent was lying on, shirtless. Hopefully, curse-related sustentation of injuries didn’t mean nasty stains because Taylor’s emergency cash was funding a new car, and she wouldn’t be able to buy a new table for awhile. 

Ana’s spot at the table would be the nastiest.

She rummages around for her least favorite kitchen towel and shoves it up against the hole in Beau’s side. His eyes were heavily dilated, skin covered in an unhealthy layer of sweat. It could pass for simple illness, but the blood was staining her kitchen towel and flowing steadily. 

Taylor wasn’t sure if Beau was regenerating blood as quickly as he was losing, but that wasn’t the primary focus. 

Snatching the trembling hands of her nearby brother, she presses them to the spot hers had been in. Alek looked as clammy and pale as Beau did, but the glossy effect of his eyes had more to do with tears than an injury. 

He would’ve been faster going upstairs to get the things she needed for the spell, but he was ignorant to herbs and spells. Taylor needed the exercise anyway. The focus was good, too. No time to think about stained tables or dead bodies. 

She couldn’t take two steps at a time, but she rushed. She ran. She thought about steps, and herbs, and different spells that could work, and spells that might not.

By the time she had the door shoved open, she was already reaching for things: a wooden mortar made of birch, a matching pestle, fluffy angelica, a handful of apple seeds, bergamot oil, and a chunk of brimstone that was still charred from the last curse she broke.

It piled up in her arms, and the trekk back was more balance act than a rush, but she made it down in time to watch Beau’s back arch off the table. A pulse of black veins slithered from the hole in his side and faded after a heartbeat. His hair was sticking to his forehead. Alek brushed some of it aside.

Focus.

Taylor ground up the angelica, tossed in seven apple seeds, and dressed it with the oil like it was a salad. 

“Towel off, spread this around it but not in it,” the oil was more than half gone before Alek used it. After, it was a sliver at the bottom of the little bottle.

Brimstone in her palm, she clenches her fingers. The spell, memorized, slips out of her mouth like water. The oil sizzles on Beau’s skin, and he thrashes. The yell that follows is soundless. His mouth is open, his chest still with the effort of screaming, but his voice doesn’t overpower Taylor’s.

The sound of latin is like silk. It burns her tongue the longer she uses it. 

The edges of the brimstone finally cuts into her skin, and she drops it into the bowl. Her blood slicks the sharp corners, the ground up angelica, and the latin coils in her mouth like a viper. 

“𑁋lor,  _ please _ 𑁋” her baby brother cries, and Beau’s yelling tunes in like a bad radio.

She cuts off the snake’s head. Flame bursts in the bowl. Her tongue feels heavy, swollen, but the spell is complete.

Beau drops back to the table, oil gone from his skin just like the hole in his side. His eyes are shut, and it’s like she had wiped all the perspiration from his chest. For a human, a healthy flush should fill his cheeks. For Beau Argent, there’s only the absence of pastiness. 

He’s unconscious. Taylor feels on the verge of following him with the blackness lining her vision. Alek looks how she feels.

“ _ Shit _ ,” Alek breathes. She huffs a laugh before she thinks about it. “He’s gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” she answers, voice thick and scratchy as if she’d been the one screaming, “he’s fine. It’ll take him a half hour to a day to wake up.”

“A  _ day _ 𑁋”

“At  _ most _ . And I’m just saying that as a precaution. I’m 99% certain he’ll be awake before then.”

Alek was skeptical by the look in his eyes, and he was concerned by the way he snatched Beau’s limp hand and gripped it hard. Maybe it was the new parental switch in her mind, usually reserved for Ana. Maybe it was the familiar big sister protective streak, striking again.

“So,” she starts. Alek visibly winces but doesn’t let go of Beau’s hand.

“Beau Argent, huh?”

“Please don’t start, Tay.”

“I’m not doing anything, Al.”

“You’re definitely doing something.”

“I’m just  _ curious _ 𑁋”

“Here we go.”

“𑁋as to why you were not only in a dangerous situation to begin with, but also why you were with Beau Argent? Unless, of course, it’s because of something worth starting over. Is it worth starting over, Alek?”

He opens his mouth to answer, but Taylor doesn’t stop.

“ _ Because _ I  _ distinctly  _ remember telling the entire family about Traz. And Wes told us about Auston. Marce told us about her little gang. Stiles couldn’t have hidden Dom if he tried, and𑁋”

“Taylor Jane, if you would let me  _ talk _ , I might explain myself.”

Her mouth shut slowly, turning into a patient smile. It grated on his nerves. She could tell. His shoulders were rolling, eyes directed at anywhere else but the little grin on her face. Maybe because it was less patient and more mischievous. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” he begins. Taylor opens her mouth, but he holds up a hand to cut her off. “Not yet. Maybe. I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it.”

His tension didn’t melt with the admission. Her smile was gone.

“We didn’t put ourselves in the dangerous situation. It found us. Beau made himself the target. We didn’t know the guy could use magic until he did. I came to you because I knew you would be able to help him better than anyone else. I can’t𑁋 I can’t lose him, Taylor.”

She clenches her jaw. Not out of anger. Never out of anger with him. 

“Well.” He glances at her. “You did pretty well. Most people don’t trust me or my magic enough to let me hurt someone to heal them. Touching the oil after I started would’ve ruined everything. We would’ve needed new oil, new herbs. He would’ve died if his blood cell production wasn’t keeping up with the amount lost.”

Heartbreak brushed Alek’s face, caressed it, and tore at Taylor’s own heart. He was so young. Not much younger than her, but young enough. She’d seen enough of that pain and devastation in her siblings’ eyes to last an immortal lifetime. She’d see more no matter what she did.

That was their family legacy. Grief.

“He’s okay, though,” she promises, “You did so well. And I’m sorry. I would’ve warned you if I’d had the time. But he’s going to be just fine in a couple of hours.”

The table was in the way of a hug. Alek wouldn’t release Beau’s hand. So Taylor gave him a soft smile instead. Her baby brother tried to return it, but it was too shaky to be reassuring or warm. She glanced away to clean up the mess she made on the table, blatantly ignoring the mess Beau had made. 

Beau lay on the table. Alek stood next to him.

Even while Taylor took her mortar and pestle to wipe clean. Even when she rinsed the brimstone off and set it to dry. Even when she packed it all up and took it upstairs to put away. Even when she wandered back down, into the dining room.

Beau lay on the table. Alek stood next to him.

She came up behind her brother, wrapped her arms around his torso, and held him while he held Beau’s hand. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. Neither did she. They stood like that for five minutes, ten, maybe even a full sixty. Alek was warm. He smelled like sweat and blood and smoke. 

Taylor pulled away eventually and eyed Beau’s neutral expression. Told Alek to take a shower. He didn’t move. She got him a chair, set up right next to the table, and he sat down. It wasn’t the healthiest behavior for a human teenager. She should’ve been more forceful, probably. Lead him up the stairs herself, turned on the shower herself, waited beside the door so he couldn’t leave until he was done. 

She didn’t. 

If it were him on the table, she would do the same. If it were Traz on the table, she wouldn’t have given it a second before crawling onto that table with her. 

She didn’t move him. 

She wasn’t even in the room when Beau woke up. She wasn’t even downstairs when they left. 

When Stiles called like always, she talked to him about everything but Beau Argent and their little brother’s behavior.

Alek would tell him when he was ready.


	5. Mars Bar

And this is where the incomplete begins. 

I've considered finishing this because I swore I would, and I'm so incredibly close. However, I've decided not to. One, because I have no idea how I would write this and the next part without consulting with the people it's for excessively. Two, because I'm not in touch with this character like I was when I started. Taylor's been an original character of mine for years, and I will continue to love her no matter what. But she's more of a memory these days. A nice little reminder of the past. 

However, I won't leave you guys entirely hanging.

 

This part was supposed to be about Marcelina Stilinski. She's the youngest, and she's adopted like Taylor (whoops, background info that you have or you don't). This part was going to be about Marcelina being angry with her family for not telling her she's adopted, and it was going to be Taylor trying to explain why they didn't. I have no clue if Marcelina was adopted because her biological parents just didn't want her or if she no longer has biological parents. Marcelina is not my original character. 

But Taylor loves her, and she would want to make her feel better about the situation. She would explain that it was a mistake to hide her adoption from her, but she would also explain that the Stilinski's don't really see her as different just because she's not blood related. The same way that they don't look at Taylor differently because she's not blood related. It's not about blood, and Taylor would do her damned best to make sure Marcelina knew that.

She would offer to look for Marcelina's blood related family members (through magic, probably) and it's up to Marcelina's writer (hi Jason) to decide if she'd take her up on that. 

(( P.S. her nickname is Mars Bar because she's sweeter than chocolate and because Taylor loves her to Mars and Back okay sorry I'm just emotional ))

 

The final part. The one where the Stilinski's take care of Taylor. 

That one was going to be the most emotional one for me, I think. It was about Taylor figuring out she's related to Theo Raeken (god, I'm so sorry if you are out of the loop for this) and thinking that means she can no longer be a Stilinski. I was going to start it with Theo ripping Taylor a new one (he did kill her, after all, she was meant to be Tara before we knew about Tara). Eventually, though, the Stilinskis' were going to come to her defense and essentially defend her the way she has always defended them, take care of her like she will always take care of them.

In a sense, it probably would've been a goodbye if I'd actually written it. I probably should write it. I was going to get you guys to cry with that one. 

Alas, I'm too fucking lazy, my dudes. Apologies.

 

Thank you for your time and your attention and everything else you've given me. I love you. Be happy.

\- James


End file.
